Rise of The Abandoned Husband

"What exactly are we dealing with?" I asked Herman as we gathered in the Avery family's strategy room after the confrontation with the Crimson Flame Sect's elders.

Maps and documents covered a massive oak table. The atmosphere was tense—the family's servants had been dismissed, leaving only the key decision-makers present.

Herman ran his hand through his hair, exhaustion evident in his movements. "The Crimson Flame Sect isn't just another martial arts sect. They've been systematically absorbing smaller families and organizations for the past decade."

"How strong are they?" I leaned forward, studying the territorial map before us.

"Too strong," Tilda interjected from across the table. Her usual composed demeanor had given way to visible concern. "At last count, they had over twenty martial marquises in their ranks."

I raised an eyebrow. That was indeed formidable. Most organizations considered themselves powerful with just two or three martial marquises.

Herman nodded grimly. "And at least five of those are peak martial marquises, just a hair's breadth from breaking through to Martial Saint realm."

"That's why they want our Power of Martial Saint," Edward added, pointing to a document detailing past confrontations with the sect. "Their Sect Master has been stuck at peak martial marquis for decades. He's desperate for any advantage that might help him break through."

Mr. Avery sighed heavily. "In three days, they'll come with their full strength. We cannot match them in direct confrontation."

I glanced around the room. "How many martial marquises do you have?"

"Three," Herman admitted reluctantly. "And only one at peak level—Mr. Brown, our family guardian."

The odds were terrible. No wonder they'd been willing to entertain my request for their family secret.

"Tell me about this Power of Martial Saint," I said, focusing on Mr. Avery. "What exactly can it do?"

The old man's eyes darted to his children before he spoke. "It's not a permanent power boost. It's more like... borrowing power from the heavens themselves."

"For how long?" I pressed.

"About a month," Tilda answered. "Maybe less, depending on how it's used. The more power drawn, the faster it fades."

Mr. Avery nodded. "It can temporarily elevate someone to near-Martial Saint level—or push a peak martial marquis into true Sainthood. But it can only be used once."

That explained their hesitation. Their trump card was single-use.

"So who gets this power?" I asked directly.

Silence fell over the room. It was the question they'd been avoiding.

"If we give it to an outsider," Herman finally said, looking directly at me, "how do we know they won't betray us?"

"And if we keep it within the family," Edward continued, "will it be enough to defeat the Crimson Flame Sect?"

Mr. Avery's weathered hands spread flat on the table. "This is our dilemma, Master Knight. We need this power to survive, yet we fear misplacing our trust."

I straightened my posture. "Give it to me."

All eyes turned to me.

"You?" Herman scoffed. "We barely know you."

"I'll destroy the Crimson Flame Sect," I stated confidently. "All of them. Even a peak martial marquis is like grass before me when I'm at full strength."

The room erupted in reactions—disbelief from Herman, cautious interest from Tilda, and calculating assessment from Mr. Avery.

"Bold words," Herman said dismissively. "But words mean nothing in the face of twenty martial marquises."

I maintained eye contact with him. "I've faced worse odds."

"Have you now?" Herman's voice dripped with skepticism. "And I suppose you've single-handedly defeated entire sects before?"

"Yes," I replied simply. The room fell silent again.

Mr. Avery leaned forward. "Master Knight, while we appreciate your confidence, you must understand our hesitation. This power has been our family's greatest secret for generations."

"I understand completely," I said. "In your position, I'd be just as cautious. So let me prove my worth."

"How?" Edward asked.

"A demonstration. Let me spar with your peak martial marquis—Mr. Brown, was it?"

Herman laughed outright. "You want to fight Mr. Brown? He'd crush you in seconds."

"Then you have nothing to lose," I countered. "If I can't handle your family guardian, I certainly couldn't handle the Crimson Flame Sect."

Mr. Avery studied me carefully. I could see the wheels turning in his mind—weighing the risk against potential reward.

"You seem awfully eager to get your hands on our family treasure," Herman said, eyes narrowing. "How do we know this isn't just an opportunistic grab for power? Maybe you engineered this whole situation with the Crimson Flame Sect."

I returned his gaze steadily. "If I wanted to take your Power of Martial Saint by force, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

The tension in the room thickened.

"Father," Tilda said quietly, "we need allies. At minimum, we should see what he can do."

Mr. Avery nodded slowly. "Very well. A demonstration it is." He turned to Edward. "Summon Mr. Brown."

As Edward left the room, Herman moved closer to me. "I hope you know what you're doing. Mr. Brown has killed seventeen challengers in his lifetime—all of them underestimated him."

I smiled slightly. "I never underestimate my opponents. That's why I'm still alive."

Minutes later, Edward returned with a stocky, middle-aged man. Mr. Brown had the weathered face of a veteran warrior, with a thick mustache and piercing eyes that immediately assessed me as a potential threat.

"You called for me, sir?" he addressed Mr. Avery, though his eyes remained fixed on me.

"Yes, Mr. Brown. Master Knight here has requested a sparring match with you."

Mr. Brown's eyebrow raised slightly. "Has he indeed?" He looked me up and down. "May I ask why?"

"To demonstrate my capabilities," I explained. "The Avery family needs to know if I'm strong enough to help them against the Crimson Flame Sect."

Understanding dawned on Mr. Brown's face. He turned to Mr. Avery. "Sir, is this about the Power of—"

"Yes," Mr. Avery cut him off. "Master Knight believes he can defeat the entire Crimson Flame Sect if given our family's treasure."

Mr. Brown's eyes widened marginally before narrowing. "That's quite a claim."

"Hence the demonstration," I said calmly.

The guardian assessed me again, this time more carefully. "Very well. Where shall we conduct this spar?"

"The training courtyard," Herman suggested. "It's reinforced to withstand martial marquis-level energy."

As we walked through the manor's corridors, I could feel Mr. Brown's energy probing mine, trying to gauge my strength. I kept my true power carefully concealed—a habit born from years of being hunted.

The training courtyard was impressive—a circular arena nearly fifty meters across, surrounded by energy-absorbing formations carved into stone pillars. The ground was packed earth, ideal for stable footing.

As we took positions at opposite sides, Tilda approached me. "Be careful," she whispered. "Mr. Brown doesn't know the meaning of holding back."

"Good," I replied. "Neither do I."

The Avery family positioned themselves at the edge of the arena. Mr. Avery raised his hand. "This is a demonstration only. The match ends when I say so, or when one participant concedes."

Mr. Brown rolled his shoulders, his energy beginning to manifest visibly—a deep amber aura surrounding his body. "I'll try not to damage you permanently, young man."

I maintained my relaxed stance. "I appreciate the consideration."

Herman snorted from the sidelines. "This should be quick."

Mr. Avery dropped his hand. "Begin!"

Mr. Brown didn't waste time with preliminaries. He lunged forward with surprising speed for his build, covering half the distance between us in an instant.

I didn't move.

"At least try to dodge!" Edward called out, genuinely concerned.

Mr. Brown's fist shot forward, trailing amber energy as it aimed directly for my chest—a testing blow, designed to gauge my reflexes and defenses.

I caught his fist casually with one hand.

The impact sent ripples through the air around us, but I remained perfectly still. Mr. Brown's eyes widened in genuine shock.

"Impossible," he muttered, then immediately pulled back, reassessing his approach.

"Interesting," I said. "You're holding back considerably. Don't."

His eyes narrowed. "You're rather confident for someone so young."

"Age has little to do with power," I replied. "Show me what a peak martial marquis can do."

Mr. Brown's expression hardened. "As you wish."

His aura expanded dramatically, the amber energy deepening to a burnished gold. The ground beneath his feet cracked as his power surged.

"Heaven's Dance," he intoned, his hands forming complex patterns as he gathered energy.

Herman gasped from the sidelines. "He's using that already? Father, stop this! He'll kill him!"

Mr. Avery raised his hand but didn't intervene.

Mr. Brown completed his technique preparation. "Last chance to step down, young man."

"I'm comfortable where I stand," I replied calmly.

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Your arrogance will be your downfall."

"It's not arrogance when you can back it up," I countered.

That was the final straw for his patience. With a roar that shook the courtyard, Mr. Brown unleashed his attack. "Heaven's Dance Slash!"

A crescent of golden energy, condensed and lethal, shot toward me with devastating speed. This wasn't a testing blow—it was a finishing move, designed to cripple or kill.

I raised a single hand.

"Stop!" Tilda shouted in panic. "You'll be cut in half!"

I smiled slightly. "No, I won't."

The golden crescent slammed into my outstretched palm—and stopped dead. The energy hissed and crackled against my skin, unable to advance further.

The courtyard fell silent except for the sizzling sound of Mr. Brown's attack being neutralized by my bare hand.

With a casual gesture, I closed my fingers around the energy slash and compressed it until it vanished completely.

Mr. Brown staggered backward, his face pale. "Who... what are you?"

I lowered my hand. "Someone who can destroy the Crimson Flame Sect for you."

The Avery family stared in stunned silence. Even Herman had lost his skeptical expression.

Mr. Brown recovered his composure enough to bow slightly. "I've only ever seen power like that in Martial Saints."

"And now you've seen it in me," I said simply.

Mr. Avery stepped forward, his eyes calculating. "You controlled that perfectly. You could have reflected that attack back at Mr. Brown, couldn't you?"

I nodded. "I could have, but that wasn't the point of this demonstration."

"And what was the point?" Herman asked, his voice notably less antagonistic.

"To show you that I can control my strength," I explained. "I don't need to kill to win—unless it's necessary."

Mr. Brown's eyes narrowed again, but this time with determination rather than anger. "You claim you could defeat me easily, yet you hide your true power. I want to see what you're really capable of."

"Mr. Brown," Tilda cautioned, "perhaps that's not—"

"No," the guardian interrupted. "If he's to face the Crimson Flame Sect, I need to know what he can do. No more games." He turned to me. "Show me your true strength. Now."

I assessed the situation. Mr. Brown's pride was wounded, but his request was reasonable. The Avery family needed to understand exactly what I could bring to this alliance.

"Very well," I agreed. "One exchange, full strength."

Mr. Brown nodded and immediately began gathering his power again. This time, the amber aura transformed completely, becoming a blazing golden inferno that engulfed his entire body. The ground beneath him didn't just crack—it cratered.

"This is my ultimate technique," he declared. "Heaven's Dance: Meteor Strike."

The energy around him condensed further, forming a sphere of pure destructive force. I could feel the heat from where I stood—this was no sparring move. This was a technique designed to obliterate opponents.

Mr. Avery stepped forward. "Mr. Brown, that's enough! This demonstration has gone too far."

But Mr. Brown was beyond hearing. His eyes locked on mine, filled with a warrior's determination. "Defend yourself properly this time," he growled. "Or die."

The family retreated hastily as the sphere of energy grew larger, destabilizing the air around it.

I remained calm, finally allowing my own energy to surface—just enough to handle the situation.

"Last chance to reconsider," I offered.

Mr. Brown's response was to launch forward, the golden sphere leading his charge like a comet. "Heaven's Dance: Meteor Strike!"

The attack moved with incredible speed, crossing the distance between us in the blink of an eye. The heat was enough to scorch the ground in its path.

I waited until the last possible moment, then raised two fingers.

The golden sphere slammed into my extended fingers—and stopped. The energy roiled and writhed against my minimal defense, unable to advance further.

Mr. Brown's face contorted with effort as he pushed more power into the attack. "Impossible!" he gasped.

With a single, fluid motion, I redirected the energy upward. The golden sphere shot into the sky, where it exploded with a thunderous boom that echoed across the entire estate.

The shockwave rattled windows and knocked several servants off their feet in distant parts of the compound.

When the dust settled, Mr. Brown stood frozen, his arms still extended in the attack position, his face a mask of disbelief.

I lowered my hand. "I believe that concludes our demonstration."

Mr. Brown dropped to one knee, his energy completely spent. "In all my years..." he muttered, shaking his head.

The Avery family slowly approached, their expressions a mixture of awe and recalculation.

"Well," Mr. Avery said finally, "it seems we may have underestimated you, Master Knight."

Herman couldn't contain himself any longer. "Who are you really? No one has that kind of power without—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Mr. Brown suddenly lurched to his feet, his eyes blazing with renewed determination. His hand shot to his waist, drawing a concealed dagger.

"I won't accept it!" he roared, lunging toward me with the blade. "No one humiliates me like this!"

"Mr. Brown, stand down!" Mr. Avery shouted, but it was too late.

The guardian was already in mid-attack, the dagger aimed directly at my chest. His face was contorted with rage and wounded pride—the rational warrior had given way to blind fury.

I watched the blade approach, deciding exactly how to respond to this unexpected escalation.